


Adventure is Out There

by kjack89



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Disney, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Pixar's Up Fusion, Angst, Cancer, Developing Relationship, Domestic, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Growing Old Together, M/M, Marriage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-11
Updated: 2014-03-11
Packaged: 2018-01-15 09:22:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,049
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1299826
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kjack89/pseuds/kjack89
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Up AU. Grantaire and Enjolras are nine years old when they meet, launching a love story that spans decades.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Adventure is Out There

**Author's Note:**

> Based on the [opening scenes](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YlGg4nt01G8) of the film Up. 
> 
> Usual disclaimer: I own nothing but always take donations in the form of readers' tears.

“Want to see something  _really_  cool?” Grantaire blinked owlishly up at the boy who had just interrupted his reading, an overexcited blond boy with curls that seemed to be going in every possible direction, a missing front tooth, and big blue eyes that seemed to make Grantaire less able to talk than normal. “Well, do you?”

Grantaire nodded and the blond boy’s grin widened. He grabbed Grantaire’s wrist and dragged him to the other side of the library. Grantaire, a small dark-haired boy of ten who normally stuck to his little corner of the children’s section of the library, looked around with wide eyes as the boy led him through the dusty old stacks, finally halting at a table with a bunch of books opened to colorful pictures. “Lookit!”

Clambering up on to one of the chairs, Grantaire stared at the pictures, wondering what he was supposed to be looking at, exactly. He glanced back at the boy, who seemed to sense his lack of enthusiasm and thus scowled. “Don’t you think it’s cool?” he asked, sitting in the chair next to Grantaire. “Those are pictures from all over the world! Look, from Africa, from Asia, from  _everywhere_.”

When Grantaire still just looked at the pictures a little blankly, the boy let out a huff and pushed some of his curls out of his face. “I just think the world is really cool,” he said quietly. “I think it’d be the awesomest thing to get away from my parents and away from here and just explore everything.” Grantaire’s eyes widened at that, because he  _knew_  that feeling — the feeling of not belonging and of wanting to leave. The boy grinned again and stuck out his hand. “I’m Enjolras, by the way.”

As he shook Enjolras’s hand, Grantaire spoke for the first time to tell him, “My name’s Grantaire.”

Enjolras grinned even wider at that. “So you do talk!” he said, sounding delighted. “I was beginning to wonder, ‘cuz you hadn’t said anything.” He didn’t wait for Grantaire to answer, instead pulling one of the books closer to them and pointing out the picture. “This is France. I want to go there someday. Do you want to go there, too?” Grantaire nodded, even though the only thing he knew about France was that was where french fries come from, and sat back in his chair, content to let Enjolras talk about all the different places he wanted to go and all the different things he wanted to see.

“Enjolras!” The voice of the librarian broke through Enjolras’s soliloquy and they both looked up, Grantaire guiltily, Enjolras defiantly. “What have I told you about getting out all the books and making such a mess?” she scolded, clear from her tone that this was not the first time Enjolras had done such a thing, and that as such, any punishment would be greater than normal.

Enjolras stared up at the librarian, no fear in his wide eyes, just resentment in the jut of his small chin. Before he could say or do anything stupid, Grantaire piped up. “It was my fault,” he said, his voice small but earnest. “I wanted Enjolras to show me all the pictures.”

The librarian put her hands on hips and pursed her lips. When Grantaire didn’t back down, she sighed and shook her head. “Very well, that just means that both of you are going to clean this up. Understood?”

Grantaire and Enjolras both nodded, though Enjolras seemed reluctant to do so. “Yes ma’am,” they chimed in unison. Once she was gone, Enjolras glanced over at Grantaire and muttered, “You didn’t have to do that.” Grantaire just shrugged, blushing slightly, and Enjolras grinned and threw an arm around his shoulders. “I’m really glad that you did, though. Now let’s clean this up and go get ice cream or something.”

Glancing up at the clock, Grantaire was about to protest, knowing he needed to get home sooner rather than later, but taking one look at Enjolras’s eager expression, shrugged again and helped put the books away and followed Enjolras out of the library. As he walked, as Enjolras talked excitedly about a whole bunch of things that Grantaire could barely follow, Grantaire realized that he’d probably follow Enjolras anywhere, even across the monkey bars, which had always scared Grantaire.

Eventually, over an hour and a huge ice cream cone later, Grantaire finally admitted he was going to get in trouble if he didn’t get home. Enjolras just gave him a wicked grin and said, “Don’t worry, I’ll sneak you back in.”

True to his word, Enjolras helped Grantaire sneak into his house so that his parents didn’t even notice he was late. Grantaire spent all of dinner wondering if he’d ever see Enjolras again, and smiling to himself as he remembered their afternoon together.

The question of whether he would see Enjolras again was answered that night when Enjolras snuck into his bedroom. Grantaire, who had already put his pajamas on and was supposed to be going to bed, sat straight up and stared at him. “Had to get out of my house,” Enjolras said as an explanation, sitting at the foot of Grantaire’s bed and grinning at him. “Hope you don’t mind.”

Mind? How could Grantaire mind? He just shook his head slowly and offered him a tentative smile. Enjolras’s grin grew wider. “Good. I’m glad.” He cocked his head slightly as he looked at Grantaire, who stared back at him. “”You don’t talk much, do you?”

Grantaire shrugged, and emboldened by Enjolras, said softly, “No one seems to listen to me when I talk.” It was the first time he had admitted it out loud, and he blushed slightly.

“Why would that stop you?” Enjolras asked, as if the idea had never occurred to him — it probably hadn’t. “If I were you, I’d keep talking and talking and talking until  _everyone_  heard and was listening to me.”

Grantaire considered this for a long moment. “But what if they just tell me to shut up?”

Enjolras shrugged unconcernedly. “I don’t know! I’m only nine — and one quarter.” He grinned at Grantaire, who couldn’t help but return it. “But I’d never tell you to shut up. You can talk my ear off as much as you want and I’ll  _always_  listen.”

Nodding, Grantaire opened his mouth as if to speak, then paused. “And what if I don’t have anything to say?”

Enjolras just laughed. “Then I guess don’t say anything if you don’t want. I can do enough talking for the both of us.”

That was how Grantaire fell asleep that night, listening to Enjolras blather on about something called “human rights”, which he had read about in a book — “I think it’s where people can’t force you to do things, but that can’t be right, because my mom forces me to take a bath all the time. I should report her for violating the ‘Neva convenshin.” — and how if there was such a thing as human rights there must also be rights for other things as well.

The last thing Grantaire heard before sleep overtook him was Enjolras muttering excitedly, “And what about monster rights? Seems to me monsters would need rights so humans don’t just kill ‘em all. Same with aliens…”

When Grantaire woke up the next morning, Enjolras was gone, but on Grantaire’s nightstand was a scrap of paper that had “See you tomorrow!” scrawled on it in messy crayon, and underneath, in slightly more hesitant letters, “I’m glad we’re friends!” Grantaire just grinned when he read it and pressed the piece of paper against his chest. He was glad they were friends, too.

* * *

 

Enjolras and Grantaire remained friends through elementary school, junior high, and even high school, suffering through the awkward stages of puberty and adolescence together, even having braces at the same time (though Grantaire had to keep his on for an extra year, which just didn’t seem fair). Enjolras never stopped dreaming, though he also became more determined as he grew older that his dreams would become a reality. He also was no longer content with just dreaming to see the world — he wanted to change it.

Grantaire didn’t really care if Enjolras changed the world, just as long as they were together.

When they went away to college, though, everything started to change. Enjolras made all these new friends and discovered all these new causes, glad to no longer be alone in his desire to change the world. And Grantaire, well…Grantaire made friends with Enjolras’s friends, out of necessity, but he was more at drift in college than anything, unsure what he wanted to do to himself, since follow Enjolras forever didn’t appear to be a viable career path.

It didn’t help that he began to feel like he was losing Enjolras to all these new friends and causes. Their relationship — if you could call it that, since they hadn’t really ever  _done_  anything — wasn’t “official” because it had never needed to be when it was just the two of them. Grantaire had always wanted more but had never pushed for it, afraid he would lose Enjolras if he did.

Now, he might lose Enjolras anyway.

So he worked his way through the usual college vices, random hookups and drunken frat parties and skipping class and whatever else. Enjolras turned his nose up at most of these, and actively disapproved of Grantaire for doing so. Grantaire didn’t really care — disapproval meant that Enjolras still noticed he was alive, at least.

But then Grantaire made the mistake of drinking a little too much before going to the social justice club that Enjolras had started, Les Amis de l’ABC. And after one too many hippie-bullshit suggestions from an incredibly stoned Jehan and suggestions for pure anarchy from Bahorel and bullshit psychobabble from Combeferre, Grantaire snorted and asked loudly, “Do you guys honestly think that’s going to change anything?”

Every head swiveled to face him and instantly turned back to look at Enjolras, who had gone very still. “Grantaire—” he started, but Grantaire wasn’t done, instead getting to his feet and looking around the room.

“Seriously, you guys think a few upper or upper-middle class college students can change jack shit in this country? You’re crazy or stupid or both.” He looked over Enjolras, whose face had gone pale — never a good sign for his anger levels, and Grantaire lost whatever had possessed him to say something. “Whatever,” he muttered instead, grabbing his coat. “I’ll see you all later.”

He ducked outside and waited, wondering what Enjolras was going to say, what excuse Enjolras was going to give. Instead, he heard Enjolras tell everyone resignedly, “I better go after him. Make sure everything’s ok.”

That had been exactly what Grantaire wanted, some alone time with Enjolras, but not like this, not with Enjolras pissed at him and probably just going to yell at him. So he did what every mature college student would do in that situation.

He ran away, straight back to his dorm room, where he locked the door and sat on his bed and pretended he didn’t hear when Enjolras knocked on his door and called his name.

Grantaire avoided Enjolras until the next meeting, when he decided playing devil’s advocate was a better use of both their time. This was, Enjolras would still be paying him attention, but he might also be slightly furthering Enjolras’s cause, which meant Enjolras theoretically couldn’t be too mad at him.

Instead, Enjolras got more and more agitated with each of Grantaire’s interruptions, his temper getting the best of him, and when Grantaire made a sarcastic comment to Joly and Bossuet for the umpteenth time that night, Enjolras finally snapped, “Shut  _up_ , Grantaire!”

Grantaire stared at him, completely taken aback. The only thing he could hear was the blood pounding in his ears as his memory helpfully provided Enjolras’s nine-year-old voice telling him, “ _I’d never tell you to shut up_.” He abruptly stood, far too aware of the tears that stung in his eyes, and practically ran from the room, making it outside the building before the tears finally started to fall.

And just his luck, Enjolras once again followed him out, though this time all his anger was gone, replaced by concern. “Grantaire, what’s wrong?” he asked.

Shaking his head, Grantaire turned away, not wanting to face him right now, but Enjolras reached out to grab his arm. “What’s wrong?” he asked again, urgently.

Grantaire turned back to him and sniffled before saying quietly, “You said you would never tell me to shut up.”

Enjolras froze for a moment as comprehension dawned over his face, then took a deep breath. “Grantaire, I was nine,” he said patiently, and Grantaire felt like he might die, knowing where Enjolras was going with this, knowing that Enjolras was going to end things, to tell him that things had changed irrevocably from that night they first met. “What I meant then, what I still mean now, was that I would never tell you that what you have to say is worthless, because it isn’t. But sometimes there are other things that need to be talked about and discussed, where having interruptions isn’t helpful. It doesn’t invalidate what you wanted to say, but it does mean that there is a more appropriate time to say it. When you’re nine years old, you can’t really articulate that properly.”

It was Grantaire’s turn to freeze, torn between crying or laughing or just staring at Enjolras in disbelief, which was what he settled on doing. “So you didn’t mean…”

He trailed off without finishing the thought, but Enjolras knew what he meant anyway. “I did not mean to hurt your feelings. And I still want you in our meetings, still want your  _occasional_ interruptions. You’re my best friend, Grantaire, and you always have been. I still need you.”

Grantaire smiled tentatively and Enjolras took that moment to lean in and kiss him. It wasn’t their first kiss, not by any means, since they had used each other to learn how to kiss when they were twelve, but in many ways it was their first real kiss, and Grantaire practically melted against Enjolras, wrapping his arms around Enjolras’s neck and pulling him closer. They stayed that way for a long moment, until Grantaire pulled back just far enough to ask, “Does this mean we’re dating now?”

Enjolras laughed and rested his forehead against Grantaire’s. “You dummy, we’ve basically been dating since we were nine.”

Nodding solemnly, Grantaired added, “Well, nine and one quarter.”

Laughing, Enjolras shook his head but kissed Grantaire again. “And one quarter,” he agreed. “Now come on, let’s go back inside.”

His hand reached down for Grantaire’s, and Grantaire followed Enjolras back into the meeting, a giant smile on his face.

* * *

 

Their wedding was a quiet affair, mostly just friends, since neither of their families approved (despite having almost twenty years to come to terms with their relationship). Still, neither man cared, far too happy to be with each other to care whether their parents bothered showing up or not.

They waited until Enjolras graduated from law school, even if Grantaire had proposed some five years earlier when they were in bed together — they hadn’t needed a fancy proposal, either, since their wedding was mostly a foregone conclusion.

On the dancefloor for their first dance as a married couple, Enjolras pulled Grantaire close and kissed him. “Husband,” he said fondly, and Grantaire smiled goofily at the word, which sent chills up his spine.

“Husband,” Grantaire returned, dipping Enjolras and bending down to kiss him while their friends cheered them on. When they returned to an upright position, Grantaire told him, “I love you.”

Enjolras grinned just as widely as he had that day they first met. “I love you, too.”

* * *

 

Wedded life was everything they had ever hoped it would be. Grantaire taught art at the local high school while Enjolras worked as a human rights lawyer. They were as poor as poor could be, saving every spare bit of money so that they could eventually go see the world, just like they had always talked about. “We’ll go to Paris,” Enjolras would tell Grantaire enthusiastically. “To Rome! To Hong Kong!”

Of course, it wasn’t all domestic bliss. Enjolras’s job kept him out at the office for long hours, and Grantaire ate more dinners by himself than he could count, until the process of wrapping Enjolras’s dinner and putting it in the refrigerator for when he finally got home became routine. He just wanted more time with Enjolras, more time together. He just wanted to not be alone.

He told Enjolras this one day, one rare day where Enjolras was home from work on time. Enjolras sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Can we not talk about this right now?” he asked, his voice strained.

Grantaire stared at him. “When would you like to talk about it?” he asked in clipped tones. “On the next night when you’re actually home before 8 o’clock? On the next weekend that you don’t have to go into work?”

“What I’m doing is important,” Enjolras said quietly, though there was a challenge in his eyes as he looked up at Grantaire.

“As opposed to what I do, which isn’t.”

Enjolras sighed and shook his head. “You know that’s not what I meant,” he said, something pleading in his tone, and Grantaire sighed, because he did know that. Enjolras reached up and Grantaire let him pull him down onto the couch next to him. “I’m sorry,” Enjolras murmured, kissing up Grantaire’s jawline. “I’m sorry that I’m never here. I’m sorry that I’m always working. But, you should know, if we win this case, the partners are going to expand, bring in some more lawyers. And I won’t need to work nearly as much, so I’ll be home a lot more. I promise it will get better.”

Grantaire tilted his head to allow Enjolras easier access to continue pressing kisses to his neck. “You mean that?” he asked, a little breathlessly.

“I do,” Enjolras said sincerely. “And I also mean to spend what little time we do have together on more than fighting.” He picked Grantaire up, ignoring Grantaire’s half-hearted protests, and carried him into the bedroom.

Later, as they lay next to each other, chests heaving, Grantaire rolled over to snuggle against Enjolras. “I was thinking,” he murmured. “With you going to be spending more time here with me, well, what would you think about adopting?”

Enjolras pulled Grantaire into a more comfortable position and kissed his forehead. “I think that in order to properly support a child, I would have to be working just as many hours as I currently am,” he said seriously. “And I definitely don’t think that would be fair to you. Or to a child.”

Grantaire nodded, only feeling a slight pang of disappointment. He had never really planned on children, but had always kept the idea in the back of his mind. As if sensing this, Enjolras looked down at him, concerned. “Please don’t misunderstand, I have nothing against the idea of children, and there is no man I would rather raise kids with, but…” He searched Grantaire’s eyes for a moment and said quickly, “But if it’s what you want to do, of course we will do it. I know a few adoption lawyers, and I’ll contact one in the morning. We’ll get the ball rolling, and—”

“Enjolras,” Grantaire interrupted gently. “It’s just something to think about. Something to maybe look into eventually, or consider if that’s really where we want to go with our lives. We don’t have to adopt a kid tomorrow. Or ever. I just need…” His voice broke and Enjolras’s arm around him tightened. “I just need you.”

Enjolras kissed him. “And I promise I will do a much better job on making sure you have me,” he said sincerely.

“And that’s all I want,” Grantaire murmured, burrowing against Enjolras and closing his eyes. A few minutes later, he asked thoughtfully, “How do you feel about getting a dog?” Enjolras just laughed.

* * *

 

Enjolras opened the door and called, “Grantaire! I’m home!” A tiny little girl with two blonde pigtails toddled up to him and Enjolras laughed, stooping over to pick her up. “Hello, Fantine,” he said, tickling her tummy and grinning as she giggled. “Where’s your Uncle Grantaire?”

“I’m in the living room!” Grantaire called, and Enjolras carried Fantine in, grinning down at Grantaire, who was finger painting with Georges, Fantine’s older brother. Maximilien the dog panted up at Enjolras, and he settled down next to the dog, petting him behind the ears with his free hand. Fantine giggled and scooted away from Enjolras, happily putting her little hands directly into the paint. “Hello,” Grantaire said warmly, leaning over to kiss Enjolras, careful not to get any paint on him. “Marius and Cosette dropped off the kids, obviously. Her dad was sick or something. Hope you don’t mind them crashing date night.”

“Mind?” Enjolras asked, hiding a smile as Fantine began painting Max’s fur (the dog, a big, calm mutt, barely even glanced over at her, busy instead drooling on Enjolras’s knee). “Why in the world would I mind?”

After dinner — mac and cheese and hotdogs — Grantaire settled the kids on the floor in front of the TV and curled up on the couch with Enjolras, who automatically stroked Grantaire’s hair. “So I have two weeks’ vacation coming up,” he said quietly to Grantaire, who perked up.

“Well, I can think of a few ways I’d like to spend it,” Grantaire muttered, his hand dipping under Enjolras’s waistband to squeeze his ass (after making sure the kids couldn’t see).

Enjolras laughed and kissed him. “Yeah, I wouldn’t be opposed to that either, but I was thinking we could maybe do that…elsewhere? Like in Paris, or Rome, or—”

Whatever suggestion he was about to make was cut off by the washing machine, which let out a loud whining noise from the basement before grinding to a halt. Grantaire sighed heavily and sat up. “Looks like we’ll be using our vacation money for that,” he called, heading downstairs to check on the damage.

Sighing, Enjolras rubbed his forehead. This  _always_  seemed to happen. Just when they had the money and the time to go someplace, the car broke down. The dishwasher broke. They needed to replace the carpet. It had been almost ten years since they got married, and the furthest they had gone from the United States was Montreal, and that had been for their honeymoon.

“At this rate, we’re never going to make it abroad,” he grumbled when Grantaire rejoined him.

Grantaire sighed and kissed him. “We’ll make it,” he said gently. “And in the meantime, you’re changing the world here, and that’s what matters. Well, that and we’re together. Right?”

Enjolras sighed again but nodded and kissed Grantaire’s temple. “Right. That’s what matters.”

* * *

 

Time has a way of slipping by sooner than one might think. Ten years of marriage turned into twenty, turned into thirty and beyond. Enjolras’s blond hair took on a silver sheen, while Grantaire’s black curls became more and more salt and pepper until there was pretty much just salt and no pepper. Laugh and smile lines became creases before settling into wrinkles, but that didn’t matter to them. They still had each other.

For their fortieth wedding anniversary, Enjolras and Grantaire finally had the time and the money to be able to get away, and so booked a trip to Paris.

But three months before they were set to go, Grantaire clambered up the stairs, followed by Enjolras, who was going slower. “Come on, old man,” Grantaire teased, turning to smirk down at Enjolras, who had paused towards the bottom of the stairs. His smile faded when Enjolras looked up at him, his face suddenly ashen. “Enjolras?”

Enjolras fell over and Grantaire rushed down the stairs to him. “Enjolras!”

One ambulance ride and numerous tests later, they were given the news that no one wanted to hear: cancer. Stage 4 inoperable lung cancer, to be exact, with less than a year to live.

They sat in shock in the doctor’s office, Grantaire holding Enjolras’s hand tightly. Enjolras turned to Grantaire, stone-faced. “We’re still going to Paris,” he said, his voice quiet.

Grantaire let out a laugh that sounded far too much like a sob. “Ok,” he whispered. “We’re still going to Paris.”

And so they did. Enjolras got treatments up until they needed to leave, and so was weak and exhausted, but as determined as ever, even if he was going to be exploring Paris in a wheelchair.

Just as determined was Grantaire, who pushed him around Paris every day of their vacation, not caring how much his arthritis acted up, how sore his knees were, how much his back hurt at the end of the day. He kept up as much wry commentary as Enjolras had come to expect of him, including noting from the tour guidebook that the palace of Versailles was almost completely wheelchair accessible (Enjolras smacked him then).

They did manage to make it up the Eiffel Tower one night just as the sun was setting, and Enjolras even insisted that they leave the wheelchair on the second level so that they could go all the way up to the third level, even if he had to grip Grantaire’s arm the entire time.

Up at the top, Enjolras leaned against the railing and looked out at the city, his tired, lined face relaxing. “Beautiful,” he murmured to Grantaire.

Grantaire, however, was not looking at the city, looking instead at his husband, at the man who was still so strong after so much, who had shaved his head with steady hands once his hair started falling out from the chemo, who had never once complained even though he had every right to. “Yeah,” he said softly, leaning in to kiss Enjolras’s cheek. “Beautiful.”

On the plane ride home, Enjolras fell asleep, his head on Grantaire’s shoulder, and Grantaire felt his eyes well with tears at he looked down at the pale, too-thin man next to him. “I don’t want to lose you,” he whispered, knowing that Enjolras couldn’t hear him, knowing that he didn’t  _want_ Enjolras to hear this. “I don’t want to lose you.”

* * *

 

The last few months of Enjolras’s life were spent in the home that they had made together. Enjolras had asked not to be in the hospital until he absolutely had to be, and Grantaire tried to honor that. They spent their days together quietly, reading and watching TV, arguing and bickering because that was how they worked together.

Still, Enjolras continued growing weaker, and they both knew they did not have much time left together.

“I love you,” Enjolras told Grantaire one night.

Grantaire, whose stomach had been acting as Enjolras’s pillow, looked down at him, a small smile on his face. “I know. I love you, too.”

Enjolras struggled to sit up and Grantaire snaked an arm around his too-thin waist to help him up. “No, I mean…” Enjolras paused, searching for the words, and Grantaire took the moment of silence to kiss Enjolras’s cheek. “I love you the most out of everything. Even if we didn’t…even if we didn’t get to do everything we necessarily wanted, I don’t regret anything. Because I had you.”

It was Grantaire’s turn for silence as he struggled to hold back his tears at that. “I couldn’t agree more,” he said thickly, running his fingers through the silver curls that Enjolras had managed to regrow once they had decided to stop chemotherapy some months before. “I love you, too.”

Enjolras closed his eyes and curled against Grantaire. “You were happy, right?” he asked, his voice fading.

“I have you,” Grantaire said simply. “I am the happiest man alive.”

When Grantaire woke up the next morning, Enjolras was gone.

* * *

 

The funeral was a subdued affair, and Grantaire couldn’t help but compare it to their wedding, so small but so happy. Here, there were many people who came, Enjolras’s coworkers and their friends and everyone whose lives Enjolras had touched (there were more people who told Grantaire that he had no idea how much his husband had done for them; Grantaire nodded and smiled and knew they were wrong, because he knew how much his husband had done for him, and could only imagine what he could have done for other people).

But in the end, all of those people went back to their lives and their loved ones, and Grantaire was alone.

He sat in the living room on the couch that they had shared, had cuddled on, had kissed on, had made love on, and had never felt more alone. He looked at their pictures from Paris, the only time they had managed to get away, and couldn’t help but feel like he had somehow held Enjolras back, was the reason that they’d never made it away from this little life that they had lived together. He didn’t regret it, because Enjolras was all he had ever needed, but Enjolras…surely Enjolras had wanted so much more than that.

And now he would never have that. And now Grantaire would no longer have Enjolras again.

But if Grantaire couldn’t have what he always wanted, maybe there was still time to try to fulfill Enjolras’s dreams, even if he couldn’t be there. Maybe for just a few moments it would feel like Enjolras was still with him if he was doing what they had always wanted to do.

It wouldn’t mean as much without Enjolras there, but this house didn’t mean nearly as much without Enjolras there either.

From when he was nine years old, Enjolras had wanted to see everything. Now, Grantaire would just have to see everything for him. And in the meantime, Grantaire had his memories of Enjolras, which would be enough to keep him going.

It had to be. He owed it to Enjolras. He owed everything to Enjolras. And he would do everything he could to make Enjolras’s dreams finally come true the way that Enjolras had made every single one of his come true.


End file.
